Invisible Wounds
by HuffynDK
Summary: Sometimes, even an eldest son needs some comfort and healing. This is Dick-centric focusing on how he is coping with the death of his father and mentor.


_Poor Tim. Poor Jason. Poor Damian. That's all I've been hearing. It seems that they're the only members of the family worthy of sympathy. They bring up how it's yet another loss in their 'poor tragic lives' but what about me? Bruce was my father too! In many ways I think he meant more to me then Jason or Tim or Damian. But it seems because I've hit some magical number of years, deaths don't matter anymore and I don't need anything anymore. No one was there but Bruce and Alfred when my parents died. No one cares that I had living members of my mothers family reject me because I was half gypsy. Oh, I guess that wasn't supposed to hurt. Well, it did. It hurt to have some alledged uncle on my Dad's side try to sell me to Bruce because all he really wanted was the money. It hurts too to find out later by doing some sneaking that I have Rom relatives who refuse to acknowledge me because to them, having a non-Rom mother makes ME not Rom anymore. Half my DNA cut out simply because they didn't approve of his choice for a spouse. _

_But I carried on because I had to, because Bruce and Alfred needed me. I watched many many friends die. I saw Joey die. I held Donna as she died in my arms – died in my ARMS! I had Tara betray us and die, a poor girl corrupted by the power and madness of Terminator. Slade Wilson drives his children insane, has sex with minors and some have the audacity to call Bruce a bad parent? Gee guess I'll take my bad one any day. I had Wally disappear into the Time Stream, seemingly lost forever. I've had Roy shot in the chest, etc. I've had Garth disappear into parts unknown more times then I care to count. I lost Lilith. I lost Hawk and Dove. I buried Uncle Clark, I've buried Ollie. I guess though none of that really matters. Heroes are out there hugging and coddling Tim over losing Kon and Bart. I guess like I said, at a certain age losses don't matter anymore. They are supposed to hurt less or something. Well, from where I sit, it sure doesn't seem that way. _

_I lost the circus, my last link it seems to my past. I saw innocent people die. I had to go to the funerals, listening to the insinuations and whispers. My apartment complex was distroyed killing a lot of people. I had a mini-breakdown and that was suddenly unacceptable. I was to remain strong, tough as nails, and care more about what was happening to everyone else. I lay bleeding and alone on a filthy fire escape, lay there in bad shape recovering and where was Bruce? Where in the hell was my father? He had decided to sit with Stephanie while she supposedly died. I nearly died and it seemed that Bruce didn't give a damn. Aside from Alfred it seemed no one gave a damn. _

_It took Bruce over a decade to adopt me. Jack Drake dies and he adopts Tim right away. He'd adopted Jason right away. What was so wrong, so freakish about me that Bruce couldn't adopt me for so long? Where in the hell did I fail him, fail everyone? He bends over backwards to make Tim feel part of the family. Don't get me wrong. I love Tim. I just feel I have thoughts and feelings too that are worthy of being listened to and respected. Bruce just gave my room away, Tim just accepted it and no one asked what I felt about any of it. Dick was just supposed to understand. _

_Why must I always understand? Why must I be walked over all the time? Is it my destiny to be a doormat? I guess so. Be a stoic doormat. Being anything else gets criticized and condemned. So, Grayson, you know what you have to do. Go put on your "Everything's ok and I'm fine" mask. Go out there and support Jason, Tim, Damian, Babs, Alfred and just bottle it up. It's not worth anyones time and bother. You ain't worthy of feelings, at least until everyone elses problems have been dealt with. Besides, like it or not, Gotham needs me, My family needs me. Bruce needs me. One day maybe they will see me and hear me. But first, time to tear up and burn this._

Dick ripped the page out and crumbled up the piece of paper. He hurriedly tossed it towards the fire in the fireplace. He looked at the mirror and straightened his suit and tie. He looked up at his grandparents. He hoped they would still grant him the courage that looking at their picture always did. He walked out and remembered the masks and graces Bruce had taught him. He went around the room thanking everyone for coming to support he and his brothers. It was the polite thing to do, even if only a faint trickle was coming his way.

The next morning, Alfred was cleaning the den. He say a wad of paper, slightly browned from falling near the fire. He noticed it had writing in Dick's unique writing. Dick had been acting a little odd lately; a little close to his father for Alfred's comfort. He sat down and carefully unwadded the paper. He read it and closed his eyes. He'd been so focused lately on Tim and the rest of the younger brood that he'd forgotten his first charge. He'd forgotten how sensitive and insecure Dick was deep down and made it a point to remember himself and to make others remember that yes inded Bruce had four sons and not only three. He had business to take care of with the outsiders. Then he would sit down with Dick, later. He just hoped and prayed there would be a later.


End file.
